Vespasian crouched, gripped his bow, and rested his head on the rough brown trunk of a linden tree. He smelled the faint, moist rot of the decaying forest floor as he sighed and let his thoughts drift.

The creatures of the Tuculli Forest are slaves to their base needs. Men are not. I am not a prisoner of impulse. I am a man. I act. I am the purpose of my life. The animals'– the beasts' lives are but a series of reactions. Every series brings the same end. He smiled a little. The beast live lives of–

"The hunt." He forced the words through clenched teeth, as if a certain part of him– that part of him that should be focused on his task– would not obey the mere unspoken thought.

He twisted his mouth, bit his cheek, and scanned the woodland lakeshore. Vespasian drew an arrow to nock with his right hand, then drew two more and held them in his left, perpendicular to the limb of his bow as the Nu had shown him. His attention shifted slightly to each movement, only lingering for a moment before returning to the more general whole.

The crisp autumn breeze picked up a yellowing leaf. Vespasian watched it flutter and dance out over the lake. The small ripple of a fish kissing the surface of the water spread in perfect circles. The breeze dropped the leaf on the lake, disrupting the pattern of the fish's ripple. No, Vespasian ordered to himself as he felt that certain part of him drawn to the interaction. With some effort he reigned in his focus.

A rustle shook the shrubbery.

Vespasian's eyes darted to it. He caught sight of a hollowed out stump of a tree felled by lightning. Its insides were a charred gray. There was an odd quality to it, not menacing, though Vespasian could not deny the peculiar unease rising within him as he stared at the husk. He thought of how the tree had appeared only days earlier– before that fateful lightning strike.

Vespasian looked to another tree. It stood, tall and sturdy. Permanent. He looked to another, then another, and a fourth. He scanned several more trees even as he felt the integrity of the one he rested against. They each looked strong and stable. Vespasian wondered how many stood as empty facades, waiting to be exposed by an unthinking, inevitable strike from the world.

Then he thought of men. How many go about their days as empty as that tree? They will meet with the same fate. The world tests men as the lightning does the trees. Vespasian nodded his satisfaction and tried again. Lightning puts all men to the– Lightning tests the men– the people–"

The crash of Canaan leaping from the tree above him shook him from his musings. Canaan's ax flew from his hand as he fell through the air, at a wild hog that had escaped Vespasian's attention. The ax found its mark, just behind the swine's ear. The beast gave a hideous squeal and scurried into the lake, churning the once placid water into a crimson torrent.

Canaan landed with a roll then turned over his shoulder to glare at Vespasian. He was tall and hardy, like all the Urzoth of the Tuculli forest. His long twisted yellow hair and the fur lining of his gray, wolf skin coat had captured more than a few smaller leaves, which seemed not at all out of place on the barbarian.

The hog fell silent and its effect on the water faded back to the same untouched, placid state.

"Why'd you even come if you're too scared to use that thing?" Canaan pointed to Vespasian's bow. Vespasian looked to see his arrow still nocked, poised to fire.

"I, I–" I wasn't.

"Give it a rest, Canaan! He's good with it. I've seen it!" Aleric, the third of their hunting party, gave Vespasian a heavy slap on the back as he plodded toward Canaan and the water. The slap was too hard and Vespasian tried to catch himself, but could not free a hand in time, and landed on his face. With one eye in the mud, Vespasian watched the back fat of Aleric's massive, bare torso jiggle with each step. He shut his eyes.

Lifting himself from the forest floor, Vespasian sighed and again smelled the rot and decay. He remained on his knees and watched Canaan and Aleric wade into the water.

The Urzoth men found the hog and pulled it to shore. Out of water, they had more trouble. Aleric turned his back to Vespasian and pulled with both hands. "The least you could do is help!" Canaan shouted before doing the same.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Relax, he's from the south! It is what it is."

Vespasian hung his head. He stared at his deer hide boots and followed the Urzoth men in silence through the forest. A step sunk into mud and soaked through to his foot. Tears welled in his eyes and he rubbed them away.

They'll tell everyone. Again. Vespasian feigned effort to find something to say to the other Urzoth upon their return to the village. He knew Canaan and Aleric would surely tell of his failure. Then he scolded himself because he knew he would say nothing.

The hunt had not taken them far and the three were among the hide huts and dirt trodden paths of the village before Vespasian had overcome his embarrassment.

Canaan and Aleric turned toward the Blood River, just north of the village. The Blood River was shallow and rocky and held no fish. It was the traditional place for true Urzoth hunters to butcher and clean their kills. Vespasian did not follow.

He continued on among the row of huts and turned by the Fletcher's Wagon. Vespasian was glad because the fletcher was not there. The mere sight of that man burned up all of Vespasian's considerable patience. He was pleasant enough, but Vespasian found the crude, ineffective bows and arrows the man made insufferable, though he could not bring himself to confront him.

"Use younger trees! More oil! Time! Time! It needs at least three days!" Vespasian tried on many occasions to speak of it with the other Urzoth. He rarely got the words out and they knew even less of the practice than the fletcher. The fletcher, in fact, excelled at providing sharp sturdy axes for the village, which they all found much more useful than the bow, anyway. Vespasian wondered if anyone else besides him even thought of the man as a fletcher rather than a mere weapons smith.

Vespasian found his hut at the edge of the Urzoth village and plopped down in the sparse grass against its hide wall. He laid his bow carefully in front of him, then placed his arrows one by one in the same meticulous manner ingrained in him by years of routine. A cool flush of calm soothed the heat of his emotions. He looked up with the intention of enjoying the wide swath of still green grass between him and the tree line. Instead he saw the old woman.

Her face was scrunched, the same as it always was when she looked at him. She stooped over with a spine curved by age, draped in a patchwork heavy-cloth. She spit the remnants of the tobacco leaf she chewed and went into the hut. Vespasian hung his head as he remembered this was her hut, and he was only her guest. He sank further when he could not remember her name.

The old woman, whose husband was long dead and whose children had moved to various parts of the Tuculli, had taken Vespasian in when he first came to the village. He helped her with the more strenuous daily tasks and she provided him a roof and a floor to sleep on. Vespasian knew the Urzoth in the village found them both difficult for different reasons, and so felt a sort of camaraderie with the old woman.

He sat alone with his head in his palms and stared at the sparse blades of grass between his crossed legs. He did not dare close his eyes for fear of the images his mind might force upon him. The memories of his life before this Urzoth village were always there as a persistent, haunting threat. boiling beneath the surface of every moment.

A rise in the Urzoth voices some distance away caught Vespasian's attention. They were louder and questioning.

They had enough of me. Canaan told them. Vespasian watched as a crowd formed in the grass. He saw a woman point toward the tree line. Then another.

A man with a fiery red tuft of hair and straggly beard to match approached the village on a tall, silver dapple horse. Vespasian's trained eye knew in an instant it was a young mare by the sleekness of the horse's neck and shoulders. He did not know the man as easily, though he felt the stranger's identity was just beyond the tip of his tongue. He tried to place the man's distinct face. Titus. Vespasian recognized him as an advisor to the Urzoth King.

Titus stopped in front of the crowd. More Urzoth joined from the small village until the crowd looked to contain everyone but Vespasian and the old woman. Titus held an object high above the Urzoth. Vespasian strained his eyes, but could not see what it was. He heard the sounds of their voices, but not the words.

One by one they looked in his direction. A few of them pointed, then Titus rode to Vespasian.

"He knows!" Vespasian heard Aleric's booming voice over the others. Titus came to a stop in front of Vespasian, casting an overbearing shadow upon him. Vespasian looked up to see his silhouette framed by the rays of the white sun behind him. He dropped the object onto Vespasian's carefully laid bow.

He did know. It was a human leg from hip to ankle with large portions of flesh torn from the bone. Vespasian recognized the small gouges covering its surface. They were pinprick sized marks of needle-like teeth.

"An Alan scouting party went east. Into the Dark Lands. This is all that's left of them. Chief Otto says their villages are empty. He says it looks like the Alans are running north. I've showed a lot of people this and no one understands it. But everybody here says you do." Titus remained on his horse. The way he peered from on high made Vespasian feel as if Titus was bringing the entire world down upon him.

Vespasian could not speak. Terror choked the life from his words before he could form them. He nodded.

"Good, then you can tell the king."